They told her

Not to cry-

As if tears were anything more than

A lifeless bit of memory-

And sent her away.

Eight years later,

The sun still rose and

Her heart still beat to the same

Empty song.

But when she woke, she would

Not remember the love with which

Her mother had sang words

That fell

In time to her breathing,

The melody her father would

Whisper in a prayer long since


She would not see the colors of the

Rising sun,

Or the pain in her sister’s eyes

As her boyfriend beat her

With the back of his hand.

She would not hear

The cries for help as

Children were shot in

A school not unlike the one she’d gone to.

She would not taste

The blood on her lips as she

Fell asleep again that night,

Or feel the cold of Death’s shadow.

At last she would sleep,

Quietly but not



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